Cryptogram
by Fortes in Fide
Summary: "Wanna hear a secret?"... Jessica/Angela


Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with Stephenie Meyer the creator of Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.

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><p><strong>Cryptogram<strong>

**Summary:** "Wanna hear a secret?" Jessica/Angela

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><p>"Wanna hear a secret?"<p>

Jessica always asks if she wants to hear a secret, or if she wants to know something dirty, if she wants to listen to some gossip. The secrets, the dirty stories, and the gossip are almost invariably about Jessica herself.

Angela always says yes.

"Yes," Angela says, a little breathlessly, smiling. They're sitting cross-legged on Jessica's bed, comfortable in shorts and t-shirts. Jessica's toes occasionally brush Angela's calf as they shift in the heat.

"Okay, swear you won't tell." She says with a mock-serious look. Angela rolls her eyes.

"Swear!" Jessica insists.

"Who am I even going to tell?" Angela asks reasonably, but she's already holding out a pinky.

"What, are you in fourth grade? We're not pinky swearing. Raise your right hand, this is serious!" Whenever Jessica says that something is serious, she gets a little line between her eyebrows as if it actually is. Angela obediently raises her hand.

Jessica laughs. "That's your left hand, moron," she says, grabbing Angela's wrist and hauling it down. Angela squints her eyes closed in embarrassment and laughs at herself, then raises her right hand, then her left hand, then her right hand again, parodying her own indecision.

"Here, okay, let's straighten this out," Jessica says, sighing and shaking her head. Angela grins. Jessica grabs up a marker from the bedside table – purple, the smelly kind – and pulls the cap off with a businesslike motion.

"This," Jessica intones as she carefully marks a capital R on the back of Angela's hand, "is the _right_ hand. And this," she grabs up Angela's other hand, her palm kind of sweaty, her fingertips running along the outside of Angela's wrist, "is the _left_."

Everything smells of fake grape from the marker. Still holding Angela's wrist, Jessica meets her eyes and asks, kindly, "Do you want me to go over that again?"

Angela laughs and pushes at her shoulder. "Loser," she says, without losing the grin from her face.

"Oh, good idea!" Jessica exclaims, coming back towards her with the marker, aiming for her forehead. Angela realizes what she's up to a second too late.

"Oh no no no no no…ahhhh!" Jessica pushes her down on her back and is hovering near her nose with the marker, but Angela manages to hold her back. The fake-grape smell is strong and sweet.

"No _way_ are you writing on my forehead with that thing," she giggles, trying to keep her grip on Jessica's wrists.

"No?" Jessica shifts so that she's straddling Angela's hips, sliding her bare legs along Angela's.

"No," Angela says, still breathing hard, but not laughing anymore.

All at once, Jessica slides her hands back and out of Angela's grip, giving up. Or maybe not giving up, maybe doing something else entirely, because the next words she says are pitched low, dirty and playful in the way that her voice gets when she's telling a secret, or telling something dirty, or sharing gossip.

"Where should I write with it, then?"

Angela blinks; time seems to dilate in the warm air. Then she wordlessly holds out her arm.

Jessica cocks her head to one side and smiles her usual lascivious smile, breaking the tension. "Let's see, what _am_ I going to write . . . ?"

"Clearly, you should be writing an ode praising my many virtues," Angela banters back, even though she still feels a little out of breath, even though Jessica's hips are still bracketing hers and making her feel a little too hot.

Jessica sighs dramatically. "I would, but Angela doesn't rhyme with anything," she complains. Jessica deadpans, her eyes on Angela's forearm as she writes, the tip of the marker pressing ticklish against her skin.

"There," she says, finishing with a flourish and turning Angela's arm back towards her.

"One of your virtues." Jessica has written "SWEET AS APPLE PIE" in giant block letters.

"Oh, thanks for that, I'm going to look like a dork with that on my arm."

"You look like a dork anyway."

Angela frowns. "Plus, I probably taste more like fake-grape marker than apple pie."

Jessica's lips spread lushly against the skin of Angela's arm, wet and suckling over the place she's just written. Angela shifts at the sudden kiss, but her hips don't go anywhere – just jostle against Jessica's cool thighs.

Then Jessica pulls back, wrinkling up her nose. "Blech. Nope. It just tastes like marker, not even like fake-grape."

Fake-grape, Angela knows, is Jessica's favorite food.

"Too bad," Angela says, trying to imitate Jessica's serious tone from earlier. "You could've saved a fortune in bubblegum."

"What, just by chewing on you instead?" Jessica's got that sharp, wicked, knowing look on her face, the one that she uses on men. "Isn't that Ben's job?"

"Well, I figured you'd be up for an lesbian threesome." Angela doesn't know why she says it; she had some idea of defusing the tension, maybe getting Jessica up off of her and sitting up, but she should've known that Jessica doesn't back down from challenges.

"Ben's a lesbian?" she asks brightly, and if anything her thighs tighten around Angela's hips. Or that might just be her imagination. "Of course I'd be up for it. If nothing else, I could show Ben what to do."

Jessica's fingers were hovering near Angela's waist; now they dip in slowly, sliding up under her t-shirt, pushing it upwards. Angela breathes slowly, steadily, as fingertips slide along the smooth skin of her stomach. For a second she thinks Jessica's going to keep going, push her shirt up over her breasts – maybe _touch_ her breasts, and her nipples harden at the thought – but she stops just below the bra line, leaving Angela's belly exposed.

"I could draw a map for him," Jessica says, sounding like she's breathing heavily herself. For a moment, Angela doesn't know who she means, but then remembers: Ben. Jessica was talking about Ben. As she watches, Jessica uncaps the marker again, braces one hand gently on the side of Angela's ribs, and draws a long line: from just below her breasts, down her belly and dipping into her bellybutton, down past the top of her cutoff jeans. Angela reaches down and thumbs the top button open to give Jessica more room.

Jessica's smile is open-mouthed and surprised. She draws a giant purple triangle at the end of the line, pointing down, then writes "THIS WAY" along the side of the line, next to Angela's navel.

"Crude," Angela says.

"But effective."

Angela's heart is pounding in her ears and her stomach feels funny but she reaches up, curls her hand around the back of Jessica's neck and tugs her town, tugs her down even as she lifts her own head up off the bed, and she kisses Jessica's soft wide mouth, wet and slow, warm like a summer day.

Jessica kisses back, maybe because Jessica's always a sure thing, maybe because Jessica and Angela have always been a sure thing. Angela runs her hand up Jessica's neck and slips her tongue along her lips and can't help the low noise she makes when Jessica's fingers push her shirt up further, when her fingers slide over Angela's breast – finally, finally – when the pad of Jessica's thumb brushes hard and sure against a nipple.

Then Jessica sits up a little, breaking the kiss, and Angela feels suddenly exposed, her shirt half off and her shorts half undone, her hand slipping down from Jessica's neck to her arm.

"You wanna?" Jessica asks, and it's the only time that Angela has ever seen her blush.

She nods, not trusting herself to say anything, not sure if she can speak around the knot in her throat. But she's not a coward, goddammit, so she sits up slowly, cradling Jessica in her lap, pressing their hips together even harder. Her mouth is about even with Jessica's neck, so she leans in and kisses her, sucks on the delicate skin there, and Jessica doesn't taste like fake-grape either, but she does taste like sweat and salt, heady and real.

And then it's all happening fast: Jessica's hands pulling at their clothes, getting their shirts off, reaching around and undoing the hook of Angela's bra, oh god, and Angela's been naked in front of her dozens of times, hundreds of times, but Jessica's hot gaze lingering on her hard pink nipples makes Angela shiver.

"Come here," she manages finally, "Come here, come here, c'mere – " Jessica does, gets close, and Angela's fingers make short work of the front-clasp of Jessica's bra, and Angela's fingers are stroking the undersides of Jessica's breasts, and she wants her so bad, so bad, that she has to kiss her again, has to get her lips on Jessica's again.

It's faster this time, the kiss, but still soft, still wet - _dirty_, Angela thinks, Jessica kisses dirty.

"Can I take off, take these off?" Angela stutters, already dipping her fingers into the waistband of Jessica's shorts. Jessica nods, and Angela's hands only shake a little, with anticipation, as she undoes them and pulls them down.

"Might as well take the rest off too," Jessica says. When Angela meets her eyes she's got that look on her face, that daredevil look that she always gets when she's about to do something insane.

Angela lets her fingers slide under the elastic of Jessica's panties – robin's egg blue, with "slut" spelled out in little rhinestones over the crotch – and tugs.

"Classy," Angela says, sliding them down with the shorts, pushing them down to her ankles and then off.

"I knew you'd think so," Jessica says, so _normal_, and just like that Angela's got her hands on Jessica's naked body. Just like that Jessica's grinning that crazy grin and spreading her thighs and stretching her arms above her head. Angela trails her hand up Jessica's thigh, slowly, relishing the cool soft skin. Then, daring, she slips two fingers into her, rubbing lightly against the exposed red flesh, so easy. Being with Jessica is always so easy.

"Come up here," Jessica says, so Angela does. Together they undo Angela's cutoffs and push the rest of her clothes off of her, and then they're both naked in Jessica's bed at three in the afternoon on a Thursday.

Jessica kisses her neck, gently, taking her time, then mutters into her ear. "Lie on top of me," she says, and Angela lets herself collapse down, her leg slipping between Jessica's spread thighs, her nipples rubbing against Jessica's tanned skin. "Kiss me," she says, and Angela's hair fans out around them like a curtain as she brings her lips down and kisses her and kisses her.

Then Jessica's surging up around her, rubbing herself against Angela's thigh, and, god, she's hot, and wet, and shameless, looking for friction as her hands rub circles into Angela's back, as she breathes hot into Angela's mouth. Angela feels a low answering throb in her own body as Jessica rubs rhythmically against her. Instinctively, she tenses the muscle of her thigh and presses back, presses into Jessica, giving her the friction she wants.

"Mmmm," Jessica hums against her mouth. Angela loses track of the kiss, then, slides her mouth down to press sloppily against Jessica's cheek, her jaw, her throat.

"What do you want me to do?" she asks then, her flushed face pressed against Jessica's ear.

If Jessica's embarrassed, she doesn't show it; just grabs Angela by the wrist and guides her hand down, molds her fingers over Angela's and shows her just where she wants to be touched. They do it together, four fingers slipping around messily inside of her, over her clit and her labia, pressing against her wet hole, slipping in and out easily.

"Yeah," Jessica says, getting louder. Angela should've known that she was loud. She smiles at the thought. "Yeah, just, a little lighter – oh, _there_." Angela keeps her fingers there, keeps pushing slightly and drawing back, the simplest of motions, just easing her hand forward and back, forward and back. Jessica works with her, works herself up onto their fingers where their fingers and tangled together and moving, slow and sure. Angela kisses her again, kisses her throat helplessly, kisses her collarbone and her chin, wet sloppy kisses because she can't help herself.

"Oh," Jessica starts to say, before too long, "Oh, oh, push in deeper – "

Angela lets her fingers slide in a little further. She can smell her now, smell them, the warm rich smell that's familiar from long nights alone in her room. Her fingers make soft little wet noises as they move, forward and back, forward and back.

Jessica groans, then, long and drawn out, rocking a little harder against their hands, her head falling back and her eyes slipping closed. Her thighs clench and release a few times. Angela only realizes that Jessica was holding her breath when she starts to pant, low and fast.

A minute later, she draws their fingers out and, eyes still closed, brings them up to her mouth.

"Ew," Angela says, shocked despite herself. Jessica cracks open one eye.

"Y'think so?" And then she's up off her back and pushing at Angela's shoulders until Angela falls back on the bed herself. Angela feels so wet that she thinks she's leaking onto the bedspread, but she spreads her thighs anyway, because she knows it's her turn, and even though she's terrified she's also filled with happy anticipation, all the cells in her body awake and aroused. She closes her eyes.

There's a kiss then, just below her breasts. She looks down to see Jessica kissing her way down the line she drew earlier, her lips nudging at Angela's skin just next to the purple ink. Jessica glances up and catches Angela looking at her.

"Just following my own advice," she says, and Angela laughs, full of good feeling, and curls her knee around Jessica's side, letting her heel scrape fondly against Jessica's shoulder blade.

Jessica reaches the bottom of the arrow, but then keeps going, undaunted as always by the edge of the map. Angela loves her so much in that moment: loves her completely. If she had the purple marker, she thinks that maybe she could compose an ode or two.

She lets her head fall back and her hips twitch open even further as Jessica lips at her, kisses her folds and her clit and her hole. Angela lets her arms rest, palm-up, on either side of her head and relaxes, trusts Jessica to look after her. Her fingers fumble against the lips of Angela's sex, the way they didn't fumble on her own, and there's something good in that, too; it's a relief to learn that Jessica doesn't know all the secrets.

When Jessica slips her fingers inside, when Jessica lets her tongue press gently against her clit, Angela feels like she's been waiting for it all this time. That maybe she's been waiting for it ever since she started dating Ben. Jessica moves slowly, a little unsure, but every stroke of her fingers feels so damn good, so much better than it's ever been when Angela's tried it on her own. Angela spirals slowly upwards, feeling herself clench, feeling liquid spill from her body, as Jessica's hot breath and Jessica's clever little fingers urge her on.

"Oh, Jessica, I, please – " she squirms, wanting to press into it, wanting more. Jessica takes her at her word and goes a little faster, still that light, gentle motion, lips working fast and soft against her. Angela thinks that she cries out as the hot rushing pleasure gathers inside her, as it shudders through her, as she presses up one more time into Jessica's waiting body.

Whatever noise she makes, it's enough, because Jessica's crawling back up her body, her fingers still pressed inside, giggling and shushing her, clamping her other hand over Angela's mouth.

"Jesus, shut up, shut up, oh my god," Jessica's saying, laughing at her, kissing her face, sliding her fingers slowly over Angela's clit as the aftershocks of her orgasm rumble pleasantly through her.

Angela's trying to get her breath back, but Jessica's expression is so comical that Angela's caught suddenly with the giggles. They're always contagious, the two of them: Angela can never keep a straight face while Jessica's laughing, not ever. So she gasps helplessly and laughs, and it's almost as good as coming, this laughter, her body still keyed up, Jessica still resting inside of her, both of them kissing sloppily and laughing and getting spit all over each other.

There's a knock on the door. Mrs. Stanley's voice comes from the other side: "Girls? Is everything okay in there?"

They both freeze, eyes wide, staring at each other, but then that's funny too, and they both start to shake with silent repressed giggles.

"Fine," Jessica manages, eventually, sounding for all the world like she's being strangled by a home-invading psychopath.

"Nothing," Angela calls out firmly, trying to help. Jessica rolls her eyes at her.

"Way to be suspicious," she hisses. The both hold still, both hold their breath while they wait for Mrs. Stanley to open the door.

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Stanley asks eventually.

Jessica nods, mock-serious again, and takes a deep breath before calling out, "We're fine, Mom, we're just huffing markers in here." Angela laughs out loud at that: can't help herself.

"Don't spend all day locked up in there, it's beautiful outside," Mrs. Stanley admonishes. Angela hears her footsteps as she walks back down the hall.

"Jeez," Jessica says, once she's gone. "You ever hear of discretion?"

"Nope," Angela says, beaming an innocent smile and handing Jessica her slut panties. "I learned from you."

Jessica takes the panties and smacks Angela with them, then collapses back down onto the bed. Angela only hesitates for a moment before she lies down next to her. She feels self-conscious, naked and sweaty, but she feels good, too, feels some deep and unlooked-for joy unfold inside of her when she reaches out and rubs her palm lightly against Jessica's belly.

"So," Jessica says, stretching luxuriously, "wanna hear another secret?"

Angela smiles at her, and says yes.


End file.
